


Insert Titanic Quote Here

by theoneinquisitor



Series: celebration fills [6]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, we love two idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 17:18:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19834921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoneinquisitor/pseuds/theoneinquisitor
Summary: Bellamy volunteers to be the nude model for Clarke's figure drawing class. Which is problematic because a) he's her best friend and she'll have to look at him naked for an hour and b) she's actually stupidly in love with him.





	Insert Titanic Quote Here

**Author's Note:**

> *slaps roof of this fic*  
> this baby can fit so much dumb humor in it. 
> 
> *looks at final draft of fic*  
> it ain't much, but it's honest work. 
> 
> anyways, please enjoy. i wash my hands of this.

Honestly, the whole thing starts as a  _ joke.  _

When her professor passes out fliers asking for nude models for the following class, Clarke doesn’t put much thought into it. She’s done plenty of figure drawing by now; it’s not like nudity is a big deal or anything. Her attention is less about the request and more about the flier itself. Under the bold, block phrase  _ nude models wanted _ is, what she assumes, supposed to be, a  _ very  _ detailed sketch of a woman’s figure. Except the woman’s breasts are very unusually drawn in comparison to the rest and it only confirms Clarke’s theory that Dr. Diyoza is tragically straight and can’t draw a good set of tits to save her life. 

She snaps a quick picture and sends it to Bellamy. 

**Clarke [11:54am] :** when straight people try to draw boobs. Smh. 

**Bellamy [11:54am]:** how much does it pay?

She frowns at his response, or lack thereof. Bellamy is usually the most responsive to making fun of straight people (which, yeah, okay, doesn’t sound  _ nice _ but they both spent years pretending to be straight, so they reserve the right to make fun of straight culture). 

**Clarke [11:55am]:** not sure. I assumed the ego boost of getting ogled and drawn by a room full of art students was the payment. 

“Miss Griffin,” Diyoza interrupts her, smacking her desk with the flat of her hand. Clarke jumps, nearly dropping her phone on the floor. “If you’re bored with my lesson, you can leave.” 

She  _ is  _ bored, but she puts away her phone and focuses on the task at hand. Another week, another drawing of a wooden figure. She’ll be happy when she finally has something else to sketch, even if it’s a naked stranger. 

She meets Bellamy in the library after class, finding him in one of the study rooms downing his second Red Bull despite it only being two in the afternoon. She winces as she opens the door, her fingers painfully sore from hours of sketching. He glances at her over the top of his glasses.

“You okay?” he asks, sliding his Ancient Civilizations book into his lap to make room for her. 

She collapses into the chair next to him, dropping her bag with a loud thud, and leans her head on his shoulder with a pout. “Diyoza hates me.” 

He chuckles, scratching her scalp gently, apparently sensing her distress. “She doesn’t hate you. She probably just doesn’t appreciate you making fun of her inability to draw nipples.” 

“It’s not my fault my  _ figure drawing  _ professor doesn’t appreciate the female form.”

“She could be ace, you know. Maybe she doesn’t view bodies sexually like we do.” 

“True.” 

She pulls away, reaching into her bag to pull out her laptop. She groans when she realizes it’s dead. She’s supposed to email her essay on Surrealism to her professor before class this evening and she has no desire to go all the way home just to get her charger. “Can I use your computer real quick? I just need to email something.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna run to the cafe to grab a water. You want anything?” 

“I’m good.”

She slides his computer in front of her as he leaves, plugging in her USB, and clicks open a new tab. She finds the email icon on his  _ frequently opened  _ page. Automatically, his school email pops up and just as she goes to sign out, the top email catches her eye. 

**From: cediyoza@arku.edu** **  
** **Subject: Re: Modeling Opportunity**

Oh.

Oh no.

Before she can stop herself, she clicks it open, scrolling down to the original message. 

_ Dr. Diyoza, _

_ My friend showed me the flier asking for models. I’m available next week to do it if you haven’t found anyone yet. If you don’t mind me asking, how much does it pay?  _

_ Thanks, _

_ Bellamy Blake _

She knows she should click away, that this isn’t any of her business (though, she might venture to argue that it actually is because it’s her class and he’s her best friend and sure, she might have a “small crush” on him, but she won’t mention that part). She scrolls up. 

_ Bellamy,  _

_ Thank you for your interest! We would be happy to have you! We’re offering a hundred dollars for an hour long class. There aren’t really any specific requirements for body type or body positioning. You can set your own rules (i.e what you do and don’t want the students to draw). Please let me know if you have any questions. I will put you down to attend, though please do confirm at your earliest convenience.  _

_ Best,  _

_ Dr. Diyoza _

She continues scrolling, nearing panic mode when she sees that the newest email from Diyoza is a confirmation that he will be in class next week. Naked. Her best friend is going to be standing naked in front of her for an hour. Fuck. 

“Clarke?” she jumps at the sound of his voice, pushing away from the table quickly. He steps towards her, brow furrowed in concern. “Are you okay? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“You volunteered to be a nude model?!” 

Her face has grown warm and she’s certain her neck is starting to rash, her completely obvious tell that she’s mortified. 

He seems to be as embarrassed about it as she is. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Ah, yeah. It’s a hundred bucks, so…” 

“But you can’t!” she stutters out and  _ God,  _ she’s making a total ass of herself. But she’s panicking because she has a lot of repressed feelings about him and she’s certain that seeing him naked is a bad, bad idea. 

“Why? I need some extra cash and this seems like a pretty easy way to get it.”

“It’s  _ my  _ class, Bellamy!”

Hurt passes through his features so quickly, she’s almost certain she imagined it. He purses his lips and returns to his seat, reaching over to log out of his email for her. He turns his attention to his book, his pen extra scratchy as he writes his notes. She emails her paper and closes the laptop gently. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps writing and because she’s stubborn, she doesn’t say anything either. She pulls out her copy of  _ Leaving Van Gogh  _ and tries to read, but after the seventh attempt at one line, she gives up. 

She hates the silent treatment, but she hates upsetting him, more. 

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, nudging his elbow with hers. “I just figured you’d be weirded out being naked in front of me or something.” It’s definitely the other way around. And she’s not proud of her next sentence, mostly because she’s aware it’s an attempt at deflecting any actual conversation regarding her true feelings about the thing. “I guess I’ll get to see what all the fuss is about, huh?” 

Not  _ exactly  _ a lie. One of the downsides of being best friends with Bellamy is that she’s often the one people try to go through in order to get to him. Which was a lot less annoying when she, you know, wasn’t in love with him. Or hadn’t realized it, anyway. Now, every time she overhears someone talking about how amazing he is in bed and even better to look at, she grinds her teeth into little mini-saws and contemplates biting their throat out. 

(Over dramatic? Sure. But feeling this way about someone who doesn’t reciprocate has her emotions a bit unstable.)

He doesn’t smile, but he does at least look at her. “You sure _ you’re _ okay with it? It seems like you would rather draw Professor Sinclair naked…”

She’s projecting, because she swears she hears  _ disappointment.  _ Like he’s upset she wouldn’t want to draw  _ him _ nude.

_ Get yourself together, Griffin.  _

She reaches over and hooks her arm through his, leaning her head on his bicep. “He does have a nice ass…”

“Clarke,” he groans. She smirks because she knows he’s going to check it out in class later. 

“I’m kidding. No, really. If you want to do it, then do it. I’m sorry for freaking out on you. I was just surprised, that’s all.” 

“I was going to tell you once it was confirmed but since you snooped in my email…” 

She digs her chin into his muscle. “I didn’t snoop, you left it open!” 

“Anyways, you can make it up to me by buying dinner tonight,” he says, booping her nose gently with his index finger.

She scrunches up her nose. “You want me to use a meal swipe on you? That seems like more of a punishment for you than for me.” 

“It’s _ all you can eat _ pie night. Miller brought me a piece of the Key Lime a few weeks ago. I need more.” 

She pushes away from him with a dramatic huff, “Fine. You’re lucky I like you.” 

“So lucky.” He grins brightly. 

God, she is so screwed. 

* * *

  
They don’t talk about it again, mostly because Clarke is very good at avoidance tactics.

On Saturday, Bellamy showed up at her apartment to pick her up for karaoke and she made a lame excuse about having a project due Monday that she hadn’t started on— which is believable only because she is well known for being a procrastinator. He offered to stay with her, because that’s  _ Bellamy  _ and he wants to make sure no one experiences FOMO. It took her half an hour to convince him to go. 

Tuesday, they were supposed to meet and trade notes for their Art History class, but she cancelled saying she didn’t feel well and then proceeded to skip class just to stay consistent with the lie. But of course, he showed up with soup and Theraflu, forcing her to give Raven the  _ Spark Notes  _ version of why she’s avoiding her best friend.

“I swear to God,” Raven shouted once she finally managed to shoo Bellamy away from their apartment, “You are so unbelievably clueless it’s not even funny.” And without further explanation she threw the medicine at Clarke on her bed, the box hitting her right between the eyes.

(Did she use the sick excuse for Wednesday, too? Absolutely.) 

She’s not  _ proud  _ of herself. She’s a coward, she knows that. But she can’t risk losing him over complicated feelings. Sure, romantic comedies always end well, but this isn’t a Netflix Original. It’s her life and she needs Bellamy in it, even if it means ignoring every part of her that wants to grab him by his stupid ironic t-shirt and kiss him. 

He texts her an hour before class, making sure she’s really okay with him doing this. She tells him she’s  _ totally  _ fine with it. She doesn’t mention that she’s already sitting outside her building because she got too anxious sitting at home. 

**Bellamy [10:31am]:** if you don’t want me to do it, I won’t. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or whatever. 

**Clarke [10:32 am]:** not getting gun shy, are you Blake? 

_ What a stupid fucking thing to say. _ He doesn’t reply right away and she’s thinking she’ll take the F in this class and be done, hiding in her bed for a solid week until they can forget this ever happened. Her phone dings. 

**Bellamy [10:40 am]:** just want to make sure you can handle seeing me in all my glory, Griffin. 

_ Motherfucker.  _ She feels her cheeks flare and for some reason, feels the need to look over her shoulder in case someone is watching. Which is just absolutely ridiculous considering she very frequently reads explicit  _ Veronica Mars  _ fanfiction in public without flinching. But this is Bellamy and she’s about to see him naked and she’s almost positive he’s  _ flirting  _ with her. 

As if sensing her distress, Raven texts her, amplifying her current situation like only she could do. 

**Raven [10:41am]:** enjoy the free blake show!! Let me know how it is. He’s filled out since freshman year ;) 

She grits her teeth at the memory. Raven and Bellamy hooked up during Freshman orientation, Raven’s first outing since the Finncident™. She had to listen to Raven talk about him and his hands for a solid two months, making her Biology Lab with Bellamy more awkward than it should have been. Thankfully, they became friends and Raven moved on and everything went back to normal for the most part. 

Though, she still feels a twinge in her chest when she thinks about them together. It was three years ago, sure, but Raven’s seen Bellamy naked. He’s  _ touched  _ her. Probably whispered dirty things into her ear. She’s almost positive he’s a talker in bed...

She’s losing her fucking grip. She puts her phone on silent, deciding she needs a distraction. The classroom is always free before class, so she decides to start working on a landscape sketch for Professor Lightbourne. The far window over looks the quad, decorated with newly bloomed cherry trees, one of her favorite things to draw. She zones in, concentrating on the particular shape of each branch, each intricate petal. She’s so into it, she doesn’t hear Diyoza come in and nearly jumps out of her skin when there’s a loud crash behind her as one of the easels collapse.

“Don’t just sit there, Griffin, help me set up for class,” her professor barks. 

They position easels and chairs into a semi-circle around the room, leaving a stool in the center. Her palms grow clammy as people begin to file in. She keeps her hands busy as long as she can, but Diyoza soon orders her to take her seat and it’s then, the true reality of the current situation sets it.

_ This is happening. Bellamy is going to walk in and strip and I’m just supposed to objectively draw him. Are you there, God? It’s me, Clarke. One question: why?! _

She isn’t listening to Diyoza talk, too busy imagining all the ways this could go horribly, horribly wrong. What if she sees him and just words vomits that she’s in love with him? Oh God, and the entire class watches her get rejected. Or, what if her classmates see him and they  _ flirt?  _ How is she going to stop her worst impulses, one of which being the desire to take her sketch pencil and stab it into their...

The door to the classroom squeaks open and her neck pops violently when she turns too quickly. Bellamy spots her immediately, giving her a discreet wave before making his way to the front of the class. 

“Bellamy is our model for today,” Diyoza introduces, laying a hand on his shoulder. Clarke narrows her eyes at the contact. “He’s asked that we only draw him from the back, so please control yourselves and respect his wishes.” 

If it were anyone else, she might have laughed because their professor, apparently, thinks they’re all impulsively horny demons. But because it’s Bellamy, she finds herself prepared to enforce that rule herself and silently thankful that she won’t have to look at his dick for an hour. 

She is definitely curious, though. Which makes her feels like shit because a) she shouldn’t sexualize him like that and b) he would probably be disgusted if he knew she was thinking about him this way.

He glances at her again and she tries to give him an easy smile, which she  _ thinks  _ she succeeds at but then he fucking winks at her before turning to face the back wall and she’s almost positive her entire body lights on fire. What the hell is she supposed to do with that? Does he think this is a game?  _ This is her life!  _

He removes his shirt first, the muscles of his shoulders rippling with each movement. The charcoal in her hand snaps in half. She closes her eyes and counts to ten. 

_ One.  _ She can do this.  _ Two.  _ He’s your best friend.  _ Three… _

She hears his belt buckle clink and the girl next to her sucks in a breath. She’s scared to look. God, she’s terrified. 

_ Seven.  _ She’s an artist. She can be professional.  _ Eight.  _ She opens her eyes. 

“I want you to practice the three methods we went over at the beginning of the semester,” Diyoza is saying. Clarke hears it, but she isn’t listening, instead focused on the hard lines of his back, the perfect curve of his toned ass. She feels lightheaded and she realizes she’s holding her breath. She tries to let it out as subtly as possible but the girl next to her must notice and she looks at her with wide eyes. 

_ Holy shit,  _ she mouths. Clarke fights the urge to tackle her. 

“You’re free to move closer if you need to. Don’t touch the model. Please behave yourselves.” 

Instead of using the stool to sit, Bellamy leans against it, pressing the flat of his hand to it. His bicep flexes, his shoulder shifts, and she absolutely cannot do this. 

She could play sick again. Leaving class early means losing her participation points for the day, but she thinks it might be worth it. Her heart is beating wildly in her chest, her breathing seems to be close to stopping. Fuck. 

“I’m totally getting his number after class,” she hears a girl behind her whisper. 

She turns in her seat so quickly, she nearly kicks over her easel, and meets the girls eyes with a death glare. Her smile quickly disappears. 

_ Nope, she’s staying. She’ll be damned if she lets some hussy hit on Bellamy when he’s just trying to make a quick buck. Absolutely not.  _

She turns back to her blank sketch pad and takes a deep breath. An hour. She can focus for an hour. She peaks overtop her paper and picks up her pencil. Bellamy runs a hand through his hair, tousling his naturally messy set of dark curls. She bites her lip.

His hair is nice, she can start there. Simple. Easy. Objective. She runs the pencil over the page lightly, outlining the familiar wild hair. She loves it like this, when it’s in its natural state; he went through a phase sophomore year where he discovered hair gel and it was a disaster. An untamed state suits him better. She smiles as she focuses on the textures, thinks about how it feels in her hands when she idly runs her fingers through it. 

It’s easy to focus when she gets in the zone, her pencil moving of its own accord. She finishes his hair and traces the outline of his jaw. It’s one of her favorite features of his, the sharp contrast of it to the rest of him. He’s soft, his eyes, his heart. Everything about him.

She moves to his shoulders, her eyes flicking up and down from him to the page. He’s all muscle, his back seemingly carved from clay and peppered in an abundance of freckles. She has an overwhelming desire to make sure she gets it right. 

She has an advantage, at least. She can think about the way each muscle feels under her hands, draw on the memory of running her fingers along his spine. She’s had many close up views of the constellations on his back— she once took a sharpie and connected every single one of the dots when he passed out drunk and shirtless Junior year. It took nearly 45 minutes. 

She’s able to draw his upper body purely from memory, only having to glance at him a handful of times. But when she looks at her watch and realizes she still has twenty minutes left and only half a Bellamy on her page, the panic begins to build again. 

She’s seen him shirtless a million times. Played with his hair even more. But she has  _ never  _ seen his bare ass. She’s admired it on more than a few occasions, sure, because he really has an exquisite one. This is very different. 

She gnaws on the edge of her pencil nervously, staring intently at her half man drawing. She could just fuck around, pretend to keep drawing his hair for twenty minutes, Diyoza probably wouldn’t care. But damn it, she’s a Libra, she can’t  _ not  _ finish it! 

_ You can do this, Clarke. It’s an ass. You’ve seen plenty of them. All good.  _

She continues hyping herself up as she looks, repeating the phrase  _ it’s all objective  _ in her head as she studies it. She starts sketching the smooth expanse of his hips, the curve of his cheeks. She swallows thickly as she noticed a mole on the right side. God, it really is a nice ass. Perfectly round and even it is muscular, like he does squats at the gym every single day. 

His thighs are no different, thick and contoured by noticeable muscle. He always wears baggy jeans or sweatpants, and she realizes why, in this moment. His thighs are  _ huge.  _ And frankly, it’s a damn shame to keep them hidden because  _ wow.  _ Bellamy Blake is ridiculously and unfairly attractive from head to toe. Inside and out. 

She knew this already, of course, but now that she’s sitting here with a sketch of her naked best friend and admiring all of his best features, she’s realizing that pretending to be platonic is virtually impossible. She’s in love with him. Mind, body, and soul. Fuck. 

“Okay, wrap up what you’re working on!” Diyoza calls from her desk. 

She can’t stick around. She always meets him in the library after this class, he’ll want to walk together. And she can’t look him in the eye right now, not after practically drooling over his ass. God, she’s going to have that visual in her brain forever. Clarke snatches her sketch pad off the easel quickly, grabs her bag, and walks to where her professor sits. 

“I have to leave early,” she tries to keep her voice stable, “Family emergency. But I want to make sure I get points so…” 

Diyoza examines the sketch, her face revealing nothing. She hates that about her; that goddamn neutral frown she constantly wears. She’s so hard to read. 

“Excellent work. I’ll let you keep your points.”

“Thank you!” 

She’s truly a coward. She rushes from the room without even looking back at Bellamy, afraid that the moment they make eye contact, she’ll say something to ruin things between them forever. 

* * *

She decides to go home, like the coward she is. She knows he’s probably at the library, in their usual room waiting for her to walk in and explain why she ran out of the classroom like a bat out of hell. 

_ Sorry, Bell. I was having a Victorian crisis over your naked body and by the way, I’m in love with you. Cool? _

She stops at Starbucks first and stress drinks a venti caramel latte with two pumps of espresso. It does wonderful things for her anxiety. The apartment is empty when she gets there. Thankfully, Raven is in class until four, leaving her free to mope about without getting lectured. She loves Raven, she does, but the last things she needs is another rant about how  _ fucking incompetent, ridiculously hopeless  _ she is. 

She drops her bag on the coffee table and falls into the couch with a groan. She has no idea where to go from here. Bellamy is the most important person in her life, the one who has stuck by her side through everything. Through shitty partners, poor life choices, and depressive episodes. He understands her like no one else has or will, she  _ knows  _ it. But she can’t do this anymore, this bullshit pretense where they’re pals and nothing more. She would fucking marry the guy in a heartbeat. 

She’s truly gone off the deep end. She’s pathetic and crazy and _sad._ “Alexa, play Ruin the Friendship by Demi Lovato,” she says into the crook of her arm. They don’t have an Alexa. She just enjoys humorous dramatics. 

She grabs her bag and pulls out the sketch pad, leaning back into the cushions with a sigh. She traces her fingers over the fresh sketch. Damn her for being so detail oriented because fuck, it’s realistic. The jawline. The lines of muscle between his shoulder blades. She wonders idly what it would be like to dig her nails into them, to feel his hips against her thighs as she wraps her legs around him. She imagines all those times she’s seen him shirtless, the deep v cut into his hips that disappears into the waistband of his pants. Where it goes. Her left hand begins to creep slowly towards the button of her jeans. 

There’s a loud knock at the door. She jumps at the sudden noise, dropping the sketch book on the floor and is quickly, embarrassingly, brought back to reality. Her wandering hand balls into a fist on her hip. 

“Clarke!” Bellamy’s voice sounds muffled through the door, “I know you’re there, open up!” 

Oh. Shit. 

Not now. God, please not now. 

“Please, if you care about me at all you will have a black hole swallow me up right this moment,” she hisses to her ceiling. Nothing happens. “I knew you were a fake.”

“Clarke, I swear to God…” the knocking grows louder. “Your car is in the first parking spot, quit pretending you’re not home!” 

She’s really going to have to do this. It’s the moment, there’s no avoiding it. Maybe a stronger person could tame the feelings she has, block them out until they disappeared. But she’s had them for months and they get stronger with every passing day. So, it’s fight or flight. And she’s all out of places to run. 

She stands, wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans. He’s still knocking, though he’s toned it down a bit. Her neighbor probably told him to quiet down. Roan works night shift and only has one mood before eight p.m; asshole. She approaches the door slowly, her heart beating so wildly in her chest she thinks it might just burst through her rips and land on the floor in front of her. Part of her hopes for it; she wouldn’t have to take part in this conversation if she were dead! 

“Okay,” she breathes, “Now or never.” 

When she opens the door, she hardly has time to move before Bellamy is storming past her. He doesn’t get angry often, but when he does, he likes to stomp around. It’s actually really cute. 

_ No, fuck. Stop it, Clarke.  _

“Hey,” her voice cracks. She clears her throat, “You okay?”

He whips around, staring daggers into her soul. If looks could kill, this one would do it. “Am I okay?” 

“You seem...angry?” she tries. No shit he’s angry. He’s not  _ stupid _ . He knows she’s been avoiding him and this has been the icing on top of the very complicated cake. 

“Let’s see. First, you freak out on me when I sign up for your class, which, fine, I could kind of understand. But  _ then,  _ you decide to avoid me-” he holds up a hand when she opens her mouth to explain, his eyes narrowing on her, “Raven told me you weren’t really sick, so before you even try, maybe, don’t.” 

She’s going to murder her roommate. 

“And today, you run out of class like your ass is on fire. I’m sorry you were disgusted by me and that you had to stare at my ass for an hour but-”

“Bellamy,” she snaps. Disgusted by him? He really doesn’t know. 

Oh. 

“You could have at least answered your phone. I tried texting and calling, and then went to the library to see if maybe you were there…”

“Bellamy,” she moves towards him, but he takes a step back. 

“I mean, what is it, Clarke? I’m sorry for coming to your class. I’m sorry if I made things weird between us. You need to know that I--” 

“BELLAMY!” She doesn’t mean to shout, but she can see he’s on a downward spiral. Bellamy is level headed. It takes a lot to get him worked up, but when he does finally get to that ledge, he’s damn near impossible to talk down. 

She steps towards him again and this time, he stays put. Her hands are shaking as she reaches out for him, as she threads her fingers into his and holds both their hands to her chest. She’s terrified, but as she watches him on the precipice of a meltdown, as she realizes that he believes her to be  _ grossed out  _ by him of all things, she knows that she has to tell him. 

“I’m not disgusted by you,” she starts, searching his eyes with her own, “That’s the complete opposite of my problem.” 

She sees the moment her sentence registers. His eyes go wide and his lips part in surprise. His fingers tighten around her own. 

“I’m so ridiculously in love with you Bellamy Blake. I have been for a while, so don’t even  _ think  _ it’s only because I saw your ass today. Even though it is pretty amazing.” 

The weight that leaves her lungs hardly has time to escape before his lips capture hers. The kiss is hard and desperate, like it’s trying to convey years and years of pent up emotion. It takes her a moment to react, to stunned by the fact that her best friend is kissing her after she’s just poured her heart out to him. But then she’s untangling their hands so she can throw her arms around his neck and press herself to every inch of him. 

She wishes the kiss was life changing. It’s how all the trashy romance novels always describe kisses full of unresolved sexual tension. But this is so much more than that, yet simple. It’s right and that’s the only word she can use for it. It’s just...right. Because she can tell he feels the same way she does. 

One of his hands cups her cheeks and before she’s ready, he pulls back, leaning his forehead against hers. “Sorry,” he whispers, his breath fanning along her cheek, “I guess I should make it clear that I love you, too. So much.” 

She smiles, nudging his nose with hers. “Yeah, I got that.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Touche.” 

She pulls back to look at him, running her fingers through his messy curls. “Truthfully?” He nods. “You are my favorite person, you know? And I was scared my feelings were going to ruin that.”

“How could you  _ not  _ know I felt the same?” he scoffs. 

“It’s not like you ever said anything!” 

“Clarke, I couldn’t have been more obvious if I tried.”

She shoves his shoulder gently, “I’m not a mind reader!” 

“No, you’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me.” she says. 

“I love you,” he smiles, leaning in to kiss her again. 

The kiss grows intense, quickly. His tongue is soft, yet demanding against hers, his fingers dig into her hip, trying to pull her as close to him as possible. Like everything else about him, he’s amazing. She already knows she could kiss him for hours, but the heat between her legs and the overwhelming desire to just...freely love him has her ready to spontaneously combust. 

“Bedroom?” she pants between kisses. 

She squeals happily as he lifts her up and throws her over his shoulder, leaving her face near his ass. She swats at it for good measure. 

“Don’t lie, you definitely only love me for my ass.” he says as he tosses her on the bed. 

“I love you AND I love your ass,” she clarifies, pushing herself up the bed as he crawls over her. “But, I would like to see it again. Along with other parts of you.” 

“Need more material to draw, then?” he bites playfully at her neck. She slides her hands under his shirt, scraping her fingers against his abdomen. 

“Are you volunteering?” 

“Absolutely.” 

She gets more than enough material. They take their time exploring each other, figuring out unfamiliar territory and enjoying this newfound intimacy. Every inch of him is perfect, but she already knew that. When they’re finally spent, he pulls her into his chest, dropping a kiss onto her forehead. She can’t stop smiling. 

Hard to believe only an hour ago, she was having a full blown crisis over this. It already feels silly. 

“I hope you know this means you’re my muse now,” she tells him, running her fingers along the lines of his chest. 

“As long as I don’t have to stand naked in front of an entire class to get your attention, I’m fine with that.” 

“You did not do that to get my attention!”

“Okay, so that was like forty percent of the reason,” he admits. She leans up to look at him. He’s definitely serious. 

She has to laugh. “Imagine if we weren’t both bad at feelings, maybe we could have just had a conversation like normal adults when we figured out how we felt.” 

“That’s not us, though.” he brushes her hair from her face, tucking a stray blonde curl behind her ear with a soft smile. 

“No,” she murmurs. “It’s not.” And she kisses him. Just because she can now. 

She’s not sure how long they lay there, wrapped up in one another, just taking their time and kissing languidly. She really could do it all day. But she hears the door to the apartment open and she groans. 

“Raven is going to be on about this for weeks.”

“Yeah, probably. Last time we talked she told me to stop being an idiot and if I didn’t tell you how I felt, she would drag me here by the balls and then do it herself.” 

“Sounds right.”

As if on cue, Ravens calls out, “Clarke? Why is there a naked picture of Bellamy on the floor?” 

He kinks an eyebrow at her, “Yeah, why is there a naked picture of me on the floor?” 

“If you hadn’t come here taken care of me yourself, let’s just say your picture was about to do the job.” 

He rolls them over so quickly, she’s dizzy. He pins her wrists to the bed with her hands, his body hovering over hers so that their skin barely touches. She arches into him instinctively. 

“I love you,” he whispers. 

“I love you, too. And I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of saying it.”

“Good.”

“Good,” she repeats. 

As Bellamy leans down to kiss her again, one of his hands beginning to travel down her stomach, there’s a knock on the door.

“You good in there, Griffin?” 

She huffs loudly. Bellamy laughs. 

“We’re all good, Reyes!” Bellamy calls back. 

There’s a short pause before, “Oh thank fucking God! Glad you all got your shit together. I’m gonna leave now, because I’m a nice person, but please be done fucking in the next couple of hours so I can watch the Bachelorette in peace!” 

“No problem,” Clarke tells her. She leaves just as quickly, and Clarke realizes she owes her friend some high quality wine and dinner for her secondary role in making this happen. 

“Actually, it’s my turn,” Bellamy says suddenly, pushing himself away from her and off the bed. 

She leans up, pouting her lip. “Where are you going?” 

He digs through her computer desk, pulling out a notebook and a pencil. “I’m going to draw you.” 

“You’re going to draw me?” 

“Yep. It’s only fair.”

“I’ve seen you draw, Bellamy,” she laughs.

He sits down in her computer chair, placing the notebook in his lap, covering himself. “No distractions.” 

She falls back against the pillows, throwing the comforter off her and turning onto her side. Maybe he won’t distract her, but surely she will distract him. She gives it five minutes before he’s tossing the notebook to the side and pinning her to the mattress. 

“Go ahead,” she tells him with a smirk, “Draw me like one of your french girls.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Real original, babe.” 

To his credit, he does try but he doesn’t do it for five minutes. He makes it three. And she’s perfectly okay with that. Because she loves him. 

(And her favorite part: he loves her, too.)

**Author's Note:**

> i, uh, don't know what this is. the attempt at something fun after months of writing angst and angst only. hope you liked it. like and subscribe.  
> (i didn't edit this, i'm sorry please don't @ me.) 
> 
> how many pop culture meme references can i fit into one ao3 post? the limit does not exist.  
> comments and kudos always appreciated, fam. 
> 
> find me on [tumblr!](https://octannibal-blake.tumblr.com)


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